The Wistful Show
The rain fell in sheets of iron. It hammered against the slate roof of the watchtower, a relentless drumming that drowned out the wind. Thomas stood by the barred window. His hands were bound. The rope was thick. It bit into his wrists. He did not look down at them. He looked out. The mist clung to the valley below. It swirled like smoke. It hid the river. It hid the road. It hid the truth. A...
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